Reflections on my last day

              Cora, Rochelle and I have been washing windows all week. This is a huge project and it's gross in the fall due to all the dust and spiders. We did all the buildings (except the VS cabin, Oak & Hickory, and the cabins) in three days. I discovered that Cora likes climbing. We together discovered the poison ivy behind the Dining Hall. I like washing windows because there are obvious results which bring great satisfaction. The view is significantly improved!

                Today Central’s Middle School was there having their school day out. Cora remarked about how awesome it was that on my last day at camp there was the sound of kids and the bell ringing. I totally agreed that this was a wonderful sound to my ears! As I continued to wash windows I reflected (get it? Reflected…windows…?) on her words.

                I believe that much of my purpose in leadership was to re-found and reposition the camp on its vision and purpose. I also strongly believed that those who work at camp (year-round and summer staff) needed to have spiritual guidance and nourishment. Camp ministry is all about relationships; with God and with others. Camp is also a vital evangelistic arm of the Church. I am humbly confident that my leadership helped develop and strengthen all these areas. Really, just as I was washing away grime from windows to provide clearer vision, I believe my time at Luz helped wash away any “grime” to offer clearer vision for the future.

                These thoughts were confirmed by the sounds of laughter, fellowship, and the bell ringing to invite people to move and gather (see previous post on the bell). God planned that my final day would be blessed by joyful noise!

                I do not like long good-byes. So when we were finished with windows, I decided to leave. There just was not anything else for me to do. My soul and my heart were ready. Leaving my keys on the desk, notes for the staff, and with hugs (and some tears), I said my farewells.

                For over ten years when I would drive in the camp lane in the morning, I never stopped marveling at the amazing responsibility God had given me as the leader of such an amazing ministry as Camp Luz. As I drove out on this last day, I was thankful. Thankful for the memories, for the people with whom I’ve walked, thankful for the difficult experiences that rasped off my rough edges, thankful for the glimpses of the Divine, thankful for the powerful worship….just plain thankful.

                May God bless the camp physically and spiritually as those who lead continue to seek His vision and purpose!

Peace.

Delivering Children

I have physically delivered three children. There is a lot of preparation, anticipation and excitement prior to labor and delivery, and then there is a lot of waiting. But suddenly one day it is time for that baby to arrive. All the emotions intensify until pain takes over. Carol Burnett once described the pain of childbirth as taking your bottom lip and pulling it up over the top of your head. But just when you think you can not stand it anymore, delivery time arrives and with a wrenching, ripping moment your child is removed from your body. Mixed with joy and relief there is grief; grief that your body is not the cocoon anymore. Your child is now able to survive outside your body.

There are many “deliveries” for a mother. Oh, none are so dramatic or physically painful as the first, but they are deliveries none-the-less. For one of the roles of parenting is to prepare the child for independence; survival apart from the parents. So deliveries are a part of the process. Each developmental stage is a delivery to newness. All are emotionally thrilling yet also painful as that child relies less and less on you for nourishment and support (those toddler words, “I do it I-self!”)

I have delivered all three of my children through high-school and on to college. Exciting moments yet also painful. I have also delivered all three into marriage. The indescribable emotion of watching my children’s faces as the passionately gaze at their spouses caused emotional waves of motherhood to crash on my mind and heart. All three of these children and their spouses (and one grandson) have been delivered to colleges and jobs in three different states. I now have an “empty nest” and I am having to redefine the role that I have known as “mother.”

Mixed in with these personal experiences is also the “delivery” of camp ministry. This past spring God helped me see my last year of service here as a labor and delivery process. When I walk around camp I identify physical ways that I have nurtured life in this place. There are many notes and cards from staff and campers that tell me that there are lives I helped nurture (they call me “Boss Mom” for a reason). And I am sure there are myriad of things I know nothing about. These last few months of excitement, preparation, and anticipation have shifted as the reality of my leaving brings some overwhelming and painful moments. Yet I know it is time and that it must happen. For this “infant” (i.e., camp ministry) is ready for new life, new independence, first steps, new people, and fresh nourishment—independent from me. And as a mother it is hard to let go. Will others love and care for this baby as much as I have? At times it does feel like a wrenching, ripping emotional separation from me.

So while I am currently redefining “mother” in the physical and emotional sense with my familial empty nest, I also have to let go of the “boss mom” title and redefine who I am in the pastoral empty nest. My nest seems to echo with silence.

But for both of these roles there is also great joy and knowledge that my children (family and camp) are not left alone, for I have delivered them into the loving hands of the Father who has grand plans and adventures for them! While I have given much of my nurture, love, discipline, and joy to them, they were never mine to begin with. The earthly children of my flesh and the camp children of my heart have always belonged to God. And He has assured me that I have mothered faithfully, lovingly, prayerfully, and well. And He has assured me that while this final act of delivery will be painful, there will be the first breaths of new life, and the new hands of those who will give care and nourishment are blessed and empowered by God Himself!

So I continue to labor, to deliver, to breath. God is faithful.

“From the LORD comes deliverance. May your blessing be on your people.” Ps 3:8

Messages from God at 70 mph

The last eleven months have been a ponderous mix of life-changing events; job change for hubby, two weddings, a grandchild, kids moving in, kids moving out, empty nest, and very soon another job change. Any one of these events is enough to cause stress; all of these events in less than a year are enough to send me crawling to a counselor! But I haven’t, because God is good and faithful. My hubby and I are weathering all these changes well.

But all of these events have advanced into known new territory...except one; while my husband, three kids and their spouses, and grandchild have all shifted into their new roles, I am still waiting for what will happen for me after August 31. God has yet to show me what my new ministry role will be.

I realized the other day that if I wake up on September 1^st without a job it will be the first time since 1981 (the summer of my junior year in high school) that I will not have something I have to do. I have segued from school, to jobs, to homemaker, to job, to school again (with the "mom role" woven through)—and while all of these roles shaped me into who I am today, they are also all changing. September 1^st may bring a stillness to my life that I have not experienced in thirty years. And I am not sure what I will do in that motionlessness.

Friday, August 12, 4:20 PM, we were traveling south on I77. We had been on the road to Clinton, SC for seven hours with three more to go, moving our oldest son, his wife, and child to their new ministry assignment. I was staring out the window at the scenery letting my mind wander through its verdant mental pastures. We passed under a bridge and suddenly I was jolted back to reality; there on a concrete pillar someone had spray painted in blue, “TRUST JESUS.”

Then my mind had something upon which to ponder. I wondered who wrote that phrase. What prompted someone to grab a spraypaint can, go down to a random bridge on I77, and paint “TRUST JESUS”? Was it done in the middle of the night when traffic was safer and the cops maybe were not around? How do I feel about the fact that a bit of illegal graffiti gave me a message from God? Did God give this person a clear directive to (sing to the tune of “Go down, Moses”):

“Go down….to the highway….and paint, paint this message for me…go down…to the highway…and give my children a sign.”

Whatever the reason, it was certainly a gentle message for me and I thanked God for whomever had been illegally obedient.

Of course I have been praying about this job/ministry transition. And God continually gives me the message to trust Him. And right there, on a concrete bridge pillar in North Carolina He reminded me again. Odd, isn’t it? God can use the oddest things to comfort our discombobulated souls.

On Monday I prayed and asked God for a clear message; am I to seek temporary employment (to help with the bills) or am I to continue to wait and trust Him? It wasn’t an hour later that a friend posted this verse on her Facebook wall: "Delight yourself in the Lord, and he will give you the desires of your heart. Commit your way to the Lord; trust in him, and he will act." Psalm 37. Then later that day, another dear friend gave me a gift; a small plaque with Jeremiah 29:11 printed on it. Okay God, these messages were about as clear as blue paint on concrete at 70 mph!

So, I wait. And I am working on trust. And if I do wake up on September 1^st with nothing to do, I will rest in the care of my loving Father. Maybe I'll grab some spray paint and head on down to Rt 30...

Beginning the End

     I haven’t blogged at all this summer. I had intended to record my thoughts during this last summer but I discovered that I was mentally exhausted. And physically busy. So it just never happened. But I want to pick this up again during my last 25 days of ministry in the land of Luz.

     While I have been fully aware that this is my last summer, it has not really impacted me deeply until this last Sunday evening. Almost every Sunday night during the summer I give a message to the staff. As soon as Andrew started leading the first song, I realized, “This is it. The last Sunday night message. Will I ever find another place where worship is this pure and free?” And I started crying. You must understand that I am not a cry-er. It takes quite a bit to cause tears to flow so when I do cry, it means something deep is goin’ on and I better let it happen. So I did. And every song we sang seemed to remind me to trust in God’s loving care, which only made me cry some more. So by the time I got up to speak, I was rather emotional. I chucked what I had planned to say and just went with my heart.

     The week went well. The campers had a great time, the staff was awesome, and the weather was cooler than it has been in quite awhile. There was a lot of laughter. Danae was in a giant box. And I finally learned how to knit. I was able to get away a couple of times to spend time with family. I figured the Sunday-cry had served me well.

Then there was Thursday campfire in Pine Cove.

     Once again, as soon as the singing started, my tear ducts went into production. I really have loved worshipping with kids, especially the youngest ones. They are so uninhibited and free and it is a privilege to be a part of their worship. I am going to miss that a whole bunch. And then the pastor stood and talked about Jesus and the love of God. He had everyone bow their heads and close their eyes and gave an invitation to invite Jesus into their lives. This prayer time also caused me to cry, for it was in Pine Cove that I gave my life to Christ when I was nine years old. I thought of all the people whose lives were changed by that decision in that very place…and I just wept.

     I do not yet know what God has for me after Wednesday, August 31, 2011. But I am confident in my call to pastoral ministry. I am confident that it is indeed time for me to leave camp and that I have faithfully completed this part of my faith journey. I am even more confident in God’s loving care; for me and my family, and for Camp Luz and those who remain and will yet come.

So, I begin the end of this part of my journey. I’ll probably cry some more.